


Crime in Witness Protection

by Ash_Cassidy97



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Angst and Humor, Gen, Hacking, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-28
Updated: 2015-05-30
Packaged: 2018-04-01 15:40:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4025476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ash_Cassidy97/pseuds/Ash_Cassidy97
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AKA how to vandalize the FBI and Live by Felix Ubiquesta</p><p>Felix does her civic duty and helps the FBI on a case, because she owes Rossi a favor. Nevermind that she commits more crimes on a daily basis than the Rossi can imagine. And nevermind that she has more secrets than the NASA (they are watching you and your phone).</p><p>AKA Rossi has a life outside of the BAU, and they collide.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I Meet the BAU (and troll them)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [morbidcassanova](https://archiveofourown.org/users/morbidcassanova/gifts).



“I asked somebody to consult on this case,” Rossi said in the conference room. The rest of the team looked at him. “She might not come, but I want to warn you in case.”

 

“Why?” Garcia asked.

 

“Felix Ubiquesta”, Rossi said, pulling up a picture of a Hispanic looking teen girl. She was glaring at the camera. Her hair was pulled back in a tight french braid, and she wore a hoodie, jeans and converse shoes. “She was abused by Felipe Rodriguez  for thirteen years. She does not like the government or local police. Felix is smart, Reid level smart.”

 

“How do you know her?” Morgan asked.

 

“I'm the one who interviewed her when her father was tried with twenty accounts of murder, rape, and child trafficking.”

 

* * *

 

*Felix's POV*

 

I stared up at the BAU building. This was a wicked bad idea. These people deserved nothing from me. My debt to society was officially paid in full. I'd even got the signatures and everything. The paperwork had been sealed and filed neatly under a large ‘We are done here’ sign.

 

I walked into the building anyway, because I did owe them the flash drive at least.

 

Agent Rossi was already there. He was wearing a loose T-shirt and jeans. He'd known that I was coming in other words, the bastard. At least he hadn't shaved the beard. I rolled my eyes at him and got into line to go through security.

 

“She's with me,” Rossi said.

 

“She still has to go through security.” And of course, their tech went haywire over my right leg. I pulled up my pants, revealing numerous scarring.

 

“Surgery,” was all I said. I didn't want to say 'oh, by the way . . .' well, we'll get there. Rossi glared at the security until they cleared me. I kept silent, following Rossi up his level. I kicked him once for taking me to the elevator, instead of the stairs. He didn't react. Rossi knew better than to give me escape routes.

 

He didn't ask me if I was sure about this when he led me into a mostly free conference room (it had the rest of the team in it). He didn't ask me if I had all the information or if I was nervous. Sometimes, there are advantages for knowing a profiler. He and the team knew that my hands were shaking slightly, that I kept checking out the exits through my peripherals. Rossi would’ve told them about me before I showed up. It was also why this was going down in a conference room, rather than an interrogation room.

 

I glared at Rossi for the laptop that was already set up. He gazed back, taking a seat next to Hotch (because I do my damn research and Rossi likes to gossip). I plugged in the flash drive, and brought up the file.

 

“Hi,’ I said loudly. They were all still watching me intently. Jezz. You know what it’s like to be stared down by the combination of your parents, your most dreaded teacher, and the principal? Yeah, it’s like that. “I don’t have a presentation, just the media from several sources.” I took a deep breath.

 

God, I wished I could just prepare a powerpoint or something, but they needed to get a read on me.

 

“I’m Felix Ubiquesta, kidnapped daughter of Felipe Rodriguez.” I brought up his picture, on the screen. I sat on the stool, front and center, holding the clicker, and staring at Rossi. He’d heard this all before.

 

“Rodriguez was brought up on twenty-three accounts of murder, rape, and child-trafficking. I was living in a cage in the basement when the arrest occurred, July 19th 2012. Three of the girls were dead across the room from me”-I clicked up the picture of that- “only one other was still alive. My leg was damaged in the previous night’s events.”

 

I went through the dreaded tale. Of how my father was a psychopath (not a sociopath-there’s a difference). Of how he would take girls home and play games that would result in a dead girl strewn across the basement floor, body stiffening and dead eyes. He would leave them there so that bugs would buzz over their body. Of how he wasn’t really my father, but both my parents were already dead-assisted suicide. He was in search for the perfect girl. I talked about the arrest and nothing else. I don’t tell tales from class, and these people did not need to know about ‘how the poor child survived’ after the arrest. Just hell no. I also didn’t explain why I called him ‘father’ even when he wasn’t technically my biological father.

 

“Questions?” I asked finally. And this was the part I dreaded most.

 

“Why do you have the files?” Hotch asked.

 

“Rossi gave them to me as an insurance policy.” I watched Rossi wince. He’d catch hell for it later, but it was technically true. I didn’t want to confess to any of my crimes. Hacking into the FBI is frowned upon. I had refused to end up on the six o’clock news like a freak show. I refused to have my case dragged out in front of classes so they could sleep through it, and then steal notes of their friends.

 

The FBI only reported that there was a child found alive, and that the Unsub was arrested.

 

“How did you get here?” Dr. Spencer Reid asked me. Rossi raised his eyebrows at me.

 

“I saw the news, that there was a case like Rodriguez, and I figured that Rossi would want the files. I took a plane.” And that conveniently leaves out the hell that’s awaiting me when I got back. I lived in a foster group home, in upstate New York. Rossi raised his eyebrows; he’d ask about it later. There wasn’t much he could do. Not a lot of people want a kid my age and with my ‘traumatic experience’.

 

They were all a little too silent. I resisted the urge to growl. “None of you are going to trigger me, so can you ask your questions so I can go home, and sleep?”

 

“What kind of games would he play?” Prentiss asked. Neutral masculine pronoun.

 

“A lot of chess. I got tested on math and science, some languages. He would cut up girls and quiz me on anatomy. He’d start in on me if I was wrong. Next?”

 

“You thought it was normal?” They didn’t know what to do with me. There was a power imbalance at play here, where I chose who I wanted to know this case. It didn’t throw them that off, but it still showed.

 

“Yes.” I did my best to not imply that Prentiss was an idiot. No, I just stayed with a creepy sadistic man for thirteen years, because I thought it was abnormal. “Next?” Nobody said anything. I pulled up the recording of the interview from three years ago. “Rossi’s interrogation.” I hit play, and tuned out for the next twenty minutes.

 

“This official FBI documentation,” Hotch said at last.

 

“Yeah, blame Rossi,” I said cheerfully. “So, is your guy like that guy or did I just dig up emotional trauma for nothing?”

 

“Our guy is like that guy. Where’s Rodriguez now?” Hotch asked. I like him. I liked all of them. None of them flinched or looked at me with pity.

 

“In prison, enjoying public showers last I checked.” I had Rodriguez under constant surveillance. I knew what he did wasn’t Normal, that it was Wrong and Bad and a whole other array of capitalized words. And I was going to make goddamn sure that it didn’t happen to other kids. That was what this was: Debt and Duty. I owed those kids.

 

“Do you know if he’s been in contact with anybody?”

 

“He hasn’t been.” Ah, the joys of hacking. “Any letters he gets are scanned and sent.” Rossi stared at me. I pulled up the files. “And these are all the letters and phone calls he made. Technically, he could have friends who talked for him.”

 

“Could you send Garcia the files?” Rossi asked. I nodded. We’d talked about this. I trusted him and he trusted his team, and that had to be the end of it. I emailed them to the redheaded tech. She hadn’t asked any questions, but she looked like she was about to cry. Gezz. I sent the file with everything to both Hotch and Rossi. I hesitated for a moment, but sent it to the rest of the team.

 

“Have you had any contact with Rodriguez?” Reid asked. I waved a hand to get him to elaborate. “Phone calls, letters, messages?”

 

“No.” That wasn’t a lie, not even of omission. “I sent the files to all of you. So, it that it?”

 

“He might come after you. I want you to stay here for a couple days.” Rossi said. I nodded. I wasn’t surprised. I brought my backpack after all.

 

I grabbed the flash drive back, snapped it back on the chain around my neck, and hid it under my shirt. Never forget your demons, court them, love them, and understand why they’re yours. I spent the past three years learning all the psycho babble.

 

“Who am I staying with?” The tech raised her hand. Of course. Rossi smiled with his eyes at me. She would know if I was doing anything technologically illegal.

 

“No hacking for you,” Rossi said in a terrible German accent in an undertone, so only I could hear me. I took a seat next to Reid, daring them to kick me out.

 

“She should leave,” Hotch said half-heartedly.

 

“She will hack your phone and get it to record everything we say anyway,” Rossi said.

 

“She is right here, and yeah, I will,” I told Hotch. Because it was technically impossible, but Hotch didn’t know that. And good luck convicting me of planning a crime that I knew was impossible.

 

Hotch frowned at me, but I raised my eyebrows, and kicked my feet up on the table. Reid passed me a legal pad and a pen. Garcia took the front, and started going over the case with Rossi’s input. I drug out my mug of tea, and took a healthy gulp. Specialty brew with triple the caffeine level that I’d invented, with a strawberry twist flavor. Science, bitches.

 

“Five babies have gone missing in the past five months in Georgia, around Atlanta. One for each month. Another baby went missing yesterday.” Garcia pulled up the images. Reid checked my face to see if I was triggered, but I wasn’t. I wouldn’t be in this room if I was worried over that.

 

“Five of them had been found in dumpsters. Felix?” Rossi asked me.

 

“If he’s copying then it’s a message that they were trash and not worth it to society.”

 

“If the Unsub is following the same pattern, what’s his next move?” Reid asked, chewing on a pen. He looked like a puppy.

 

“IQ tests, medical examination, possible dissection.” They all stared at me. “You have seventy two hours from the time that he was taken.”

 

“That holds true to the pattern over the past five months. Why weren’t we brought in?” Hotch inquired.

 

“The locals thought it was mother's killing the babies, and not saying anything. The women had been made to look like it was a suicide.”

 

“That goes along with Rodriguez,” Reid said, reading the file over. “Women are typically the most tenacious about finding their children. Men are known to move on quicker.” That’s a depressing thought.

 

The whole debriefing continued like that. I kept my mouth shut mostly unless they asked for my input. Science shouldn’t be colored by outsider experience. I followed Rossi out of the room. He pulled me aside for a moment.

 

“Do they know that you’re here?”

 

“I left a note.” He let his silence respond for him. “It’s fine, Rossi. I’ll deal with it when I get back.”

 

“I am going to call them to let them know that you’re safe.”

 

“They won’t care.”

 

“What?” And that had lost his nice tone.

 

“Drop it.”

 

“You know that I can’t.”

 

“And I am asking you to respect me enough to know what I’m doing.” Hotch was close enough to overhear this whole conversation. I resisted the urge to glare at him. He took a couple steps back. Goddamn spooks. At least, Rossi knew better than to send the puppy after me.

 

“Fine, but if you need me or if they hurt you, I will be on your doorstep.”

 

“And you better have huge bulletin boards that say how much you love me.” Rossi had been the one person that I’d stayed in contact with over those three years. He was the only person who hadn’t been pitiful or overly kind.

 

“Garcia will show you to her den of technology. And no hacking.” I grinned at him.

 

“I wouldn’t hack in the FBI’s base of operations. Come on, you guys have this awesome firewall, and everything with a 64 bit encryption.” Rossi snorted. He knew perfectly well that I would never imply or tell him any plans to commit crimes or confess to any crimes. It made him relax a little bit.“Which is ironic what with your statement about the Apple phones.”

 

“Yeah, I heard about that,” Rossi said. He motioned Garcia to take over with me. “Have fun with the computers.”

 

“I’m going to hack your credit scores.”

 

“Can you actually hack?” Garcia asked me.

  
I shook my head at her. “It’s just one of those running jokes.” I grinned and followed the untrusting tech down to her lair.


	2. I Stay With the Tech

Last Time: _“Can you actually hack?” Garcia asked me._

_I shook my head at her. “It’s just one of those running jokes.” I grinned and followed the untrusting tech down to her lair._

* * *

Garcia’s lair was well-light. I grabbed a chair in the corner, and pulled out a textbook. I knew better than to access anything on any tech while under a federal building. All my tech was completely turned off. It’s not paranoia if the FBI tells you that they are out to get you.

 

 

“So, how are you still in contact with Rossi?” I didn’t answer. I turned a page, letting the dead silence speak for myself. She looked at me. I turned another page, not looking up. She nodded and went back to her screen. “You know that they’re going to be out for at least a week, and you’re going to be stuck with me for a while?”

 

“I am good with silence.” Garcia did a thing with her computer and cellphone.

 

“Come on, we are getting lunch.” She pulled me up. I stared at her, leaning back slightly. People don’t really go near me.

 

“I’m not really-”

 

“The cafeteria makes these awesome cheeseburgers.” She groaned in exaggeration. I mentally counted my money, and nodded. I could afford a salad at least.

 

The cafeteria was more spacious and sterile looking. We got inline. Garcia started trying to talk to me again. I kept my backpack with me. She tried to pay for the food, and I didn’t argue. I slipped the cashier the money, and stuck Garcia’s money back in her bag. I don’t like debts to people I don’t know.

 

“So, what do you think of the new iPhones?” I just looked at her. “Okay, better question: you ever play Untrusted?” I grinned at her. “There you are. What level are you up to?”

 

“Stuck on level 10 with the drones.” Untrusted is a programmer game where a scientist gets trapped in a computer and has to hack the code to break free. It’s a bitch, and not the way to learn JavaScript. I started getting into it last night on the plane. We sat down, and I ate my pasta salud. I still don’t like the taste or smell of meat. I stabbed the noodles, unimpressed because I can cook better than this.

 

“Vegetarian?” Garcia asked me.

 

“Yup. Rossi taught me how to cook like a normal person.” She looked at me. Slip. I did not facepalm, but I knew better.

 

“Normal?”

 

I stabbed a noodle and ate it. “I learned how to make french food, and five course meals but not mac n cheese or Italian pasta. That’s how I kept in contact with Rossi. I kept asking him for recipes for stupid things, and he kept teaching me with weird appliances.” Rossi taught me how to cook pasta in a hospital kitchen when I couldn’t sleep, but I didn’t tell her that’s why I trusted the man. Few people ever take a third look at the broken, the damned, the unbreakable, and see something besides cracks of glass.

 

“He taught the team how to make pasta once. It was an  . . .experience,” Garcia said at last. I grinned at her. Rossi was gruff, but patient. It was weird seeing him with his team. It was weird even being near the FBI.

 

“Why did you join the FBI?”

 

“It was one of those ‘you will come work for us or go to jail’ things. I think they just liked my sparkly attitude.” I nodded.

 

“So, I’m staying with you tonight?”

 

“I have Netflix. You see the-”

 

“I’m fine with reading.” She stared at me intently. I smiled cheerfully at her. There would be no human interaction here, no ma’am.

 

“You’re not a technophobe.”

 

“No. I just like reading.” I smiled and turned a page. Rossi said nothing about trolling.

 

Garcia finally stopped staring at me. The great thing about being a traumatized torture vic is that people really feel to bad to tell you off. The rest of the day went like that. The BAU team sent in requests for information, but they didn’t really need me. I kept to my BioChem textbook. I went through the other packet of homework that my teachers had sent me.

 

Trauma vic doesn’t mean that I can’t graduate from Hell School (aka High School) with a 4.0 GPA, thank you very much.

 

Finally, oh finally, Garcia took me back to her apartment. I slept on the couch, flinching at the strange sounds. Finally, I fell asleep. I didn’t dream.

* * *

 I woke at 5:30 am. I made the caffeinated tea (I have a stockpile). I made toast and jam. Garcia came out around 6:30am. She barely glanced at me as she shuffled her way to the all holy coffee maker. She drove us into the BAU (after getting dressed and showering). I wore yesterday’s clothes.

 

The team called in and said everything was good. They were investigating a prison guard who’d transferred to Atlanta. Ah, the cliches. My bet’s on that it’s the last person you expect.

 

It was about 11:55 am when it all went to shit.

 

Rossi called me. I picked up, because avoiding the FBI while at the FBI is stupid.

 

“I thought you left a note,” he said calmly, but with an edge.

 

“I did.”

 

“They sent me a picture. The note reads, ‘I’m gonna hang with Rossi for a few days’. There is no further explanation, Rossi.”

 

I sighed. “Rossi, they don’t care. You called, and they thought it would be fun to bitch. That’s it.”

 

“You’ve done this before?” His voice was deadly calm.

 

“Once or twice.”

 

“You’ve run away five different times according to the Little Falls Police Department.” I hate it when people do their research sometimes. “And that’s the times that the police have gotten involved. Jodi and Mike say that you disappear nightly and come home at odd hours.”

 

“Rossi, drop it.” He sighed at me. “I need to clear my head sometimes. That isn’t a crime, so hush.” Actually, I was going to use this little trip to take care of the problem.

 

“We’ll continue this conversation later.” I hit the ‘End’. Garcia kept looking at me.

 

“What, Agent Garcia?”

 

“Foster parents?”

 

“Yes.” Jodi and Mike Holwell are a middle-aged married couple in Upstate New York. They’re the type of people who take pies to picnics and always bring extra lemonade. One of them’s a lawyer for social service, and the other’s a cop. Yeah, that expression on your face right now is not what usually pops up.

 

“Do you like them?”

 

“Did you like your parents?” Her parents had died in a drunk driving accident. I do my research. She shut up at that.

 

One hour later, we were at the same position. I was carefully ignoring the computer screen. The team already had my file. They didn’t need me for anything.

 

Hotch called Garcia (I could tell it was him because I could hear). “Rossi’s been shot.”

  
Author: Booom, drop the mike *casually strolls off the stage, only to come back* To be continued.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you ever want to be depressed, do research on foster care, and child abuse cases.


	3. Operation Lights (aka I mess with Hotch)

Last Time: _Hotch called Garcia (I could tell it was him because I could hear). “Rossi’s been shot.”_

* * *

 “Put it on speaker, now,” I hissed at her. She put it on speaker.

 

“He’s fine,” Hotch was quick to add. I breathed a sigh of relief, and then pushed Garcia out of the way.

 

“I’m going down there,” I said firmly, accessing the local airport to arrange a flight.

 

“He wants to drag you out,” Hotch growled at me.

 

“Agent,” I snapped out. “I know what I’m doing.”

 

“Felix-I forbi-” I hung up the phone, and shut it off. I turned to Garcia.

 

“Are you going to stop me?”

 

“You going no matter what I do?” I nodded fervently. “Okay. It will be faster if you’re accompanied by an Agent.”

 

“Good, flight leaves in thirty minutes.” Hotch apparently wasn’t cruel enough to put an alert on us. I guess he hope that he would be able to shunt me off when we touched down in Atlanta. Garcia’s ID meant that we got through security with all kinds of interesting things, and quickly too.

 

“Are you okay with flying?” Garcia asked me when we were on the plan.

 

“I am not Q from James Bond.” I rolled my eyes at Garcia. Yeah, because the plane is going to freak me out when airport security hadn’t.

 

Two hours later, we landed in Atlanta. We were met by Hotch. Awesome.

 

“I do not have time to handle you,” He said calmly. I observed him. He was more relaxed than he was over the phone. Rossi was fine. I hissed low in relief.

 

“I can help.” I met his eyes squarely. “Two techs are better than one, and I know what you’re looking for.”

 

“It was the guard. We have to find him. You will do nothing.” He was pissed. I didn’t give a shit. Rossi was one of the few people that I liked. If I was more sentimental, I’d said he was my families, but families suck in my experience.

 

“Fine,” I said sweetly.

 

“Laptop,” He said equally sweet. I glared at him. Oh honey, don’t poke the bear and steal its honey because the bear will run out of southern analogies. I forked it over. “And the backpack.” I breathed slowly, and gave him it and watched him go through it with a pair of gloves. He gave it back to me. He was smart enough to not ask for the drive. Mostly, because he could ask Garcia to remotely go through the laptop I’d used. Hotch is adorable.

 

“You gonna strip search me in front of all these nice people, Agent?” He didn’t, but he was tempted.

 

He drove me to the hospital, dropping Garcia off at the Atlanta Police Department. He walked me all the way up to Rossi’s room where the Prentiss was watching. So, this was a security risk (they hadn’t assigned the puppy). They also thought I’d open up easier to women. I didn’t ask if they were too busy to assign a two guard like they were supposed to. God, I love the BAU. I didn’t smile and I kept track of microexpressions. I’d lived with a psychopath. I knew how to lie. Hotch left. I sat next to Rossi who was out.

 

He was wearing a dumb gown and a bunch of wires (and yeah, catheter-ew). His face was covered in a breathing mask. Prentiss was wearing a pant suit, and carrying two guns and a knife.

 

“Do you want something to drink?” Prentiss asked.

 

“I’m good. I’m going to go use the restroom.”

 

“Leave the backpack and be back in five minutes.” Damn. Five minutes. Well, time to see if I can break my record. I left, shutting the private room’s door.

 

I walked into the restroom, into a stall and took off my shirt. I had two phones on me. Paranoia is not paranoia if you’re going down to the FBI. I turned one of the phones on (technically Droid but I messed around with the programming). I plugged in the flash drive into the phone. I ran the hack, slipping into the Atlanta Police Department security, and setting the film back. Finally, I tracked down the guard’s name: Darnell E. Harper. I uploaded Operation Sparky, put in Harper’s name, license plate, and address into the box. I did the search and set up the hack.

 

I wiped the phone and chucked it out the window. I washed my hands, and checked my watch. Four minutes. Huh, and I thought it was just the movie magic writing this thing.

 

I went back to Rossi. Rossi was awake. His eyes snapped at me. I grimaced. Fuck.

 

He tapped the oxygen mask, but I shook my head. I picked up his chart and showed it to him. “It says that you need that for at least 24 hours.” I pointed at the text. He pasted on a puppy expression. “Ah no, 24 hours, Agent.” He dozed back out again. “You get the doc, Agent Prentiss?”

 

“Yes, he was in here. He said he’d should be alright.”

 

It took Hotch two hours. I spent them slowly, reading my book, and carefully not fiddling around. Rossi dozed in and out of conscious. Prentiss got a text from Hotch after one hour, and she started watching me more than Rossi or the door. I ignored her. I didn’t feel like getting shouted at before I had to.

 

At long last, Hotch came into the room. “Phone.” He gestured at me.

 

“I don’t have it. I chucked it out the bathroom window.” Making them search for it wouldn’t help. “You gonna search me now?”

 

“Cut it off,” Rossi whispered. I looked at him. I tossed the backpack at Hotch, three knives, and the second phone (ducttaped under my bra-I removed it under my shirt for the record). He searched the bag more carefully this time, and tossed it back after removing hidden tech from it.

 

“Satisfied?” I asked them. “I’m not giving up my drive.”

 

“Prentiss,” Hotch ordered. She search me quickly and professionally. “What’s on the drive?” And there’s a difference in lying to a BAU agent in silence, and when he’s looking at you in a professional light.

 

“The file I shared, and a couple of programs like the one I used to get Harper.”

 

“You do this again, I won’t take the drive. I will arrest you for interference in an FBI investigation.” I nodded curtly. “We caught Harper by the way. Garcia wants your program.”

 

“What did she even do?” Prentiss asked.

 

“I set up a program where all traffic lights, store shop security, and public security cameras would take pictures of him, and then send the pictures to Agent Garcia. The program is brute force, unlike the FBI ones so it finds things a lot faster.” I shrugged at them. I grited my teeth. These people wouldn’t be fooled a second time. Rossi looked at me.

 

“I’m not going to stay here anyway. I should get home.” Hotch looked at me.

 

“Could I talk with you for a moment?” He asked. I nodded. I hugged Rossi carefully, telling him to take it easy and not get shot again. I accompanied Hotch out into the hall.

 

He gave me his card.

 

“Rossi will stay with me while he recovers,” He continued. “That’s my contact information incase you want to call”-he paused for a breath- “call me for anything. Even if you just want to talk.” I nodded. “I’ll drive you to the airport.”

 

He did, driving perfectly on the speed limit. I kept glancing at him. “Am I going to end up on another watch list for this?”

 

“No. It’s my decision to not report it. Garcia might monitor you, but that’s it.”

 

“Okay.”

 

“Why, do we need to monitor you?” I looked at him.

 

“Rossi worries.” He made a noncommittal noise. I rolled my eyes. “Cut it.”

 

“If I get proof . . .”

 

“I know, but there isn’t anything to prove, Agent.” He didn’t say another word, just dropped me off, and made sure that I got on the right plane. I rolled my eyes at him.

 

“They know to pick you up?” I shrugged. “I told them to, call me if they’re not at the airport.”

 

“With what phone?”

 

“They have payphones at airports.”

 

“You are a giant motherhen, aren’t you?” I left, boarding the plane.

 

They weren’t waiting at the airport. I wasn’t surprised. I went into the restroom, and stood on a toilet, undid the ceiling tile, and withdrew my third burner phone of the week. I tapped it, thinking.

 

The smart thing would be to run to Croatia or any other country without an extradition agreement with the US. The other smart thing would be to call Hotch and tell all my secrets. And I would, I would in a heartbeat, so don’t go calling me stupid or brave or some shit.

 

It’s not just me in that foster home, and I make a better target.

 

I called a taxi, paid for the trip to the Holwell’s.

  
tbc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://www.fakenamegenerator.com/gen-male-us-us.php this officially the creepiest way to generate a name. It does everything from address to social security number, I shit you not.
> 
> The fake (God I hope its fake) Harper’s address is DarnellEHarper@armyspy.com Yeah, I’m really freaked out now. Apparently if I clicked, I could have made the address live. It’s basically a site to create fake identities. Your welcome. *continues to be freaked out* Like I have seen Things, crazy, insane things, but this-this tops all of it.
> 
> You can supposedly plug a flash drive into an Android phone so ha. I try very hard to be accurate, and not do movie magic. If Felix uploaded the program on the flash drive, and brute force re-programmed the phone-well, it would work so take that Science. I don’t know if her actual program would work, but it is totally possible if you look at the shit the NASA gets up to.
> 
> Yeah, there isn’t much of the time. And Rossi is out of character, but not that much.
> 
> There’s a wikihow for how not to get extradited to the United States. Yeah. http://www.wikihow.com/Avoid-Being-Extradited-to-the-US


	4. Hotch is an Asshole

Last Time: _It’s not just me in that foster home, and I make a better target._

_I called a taxi, paid for the trip to the Holwell’s._

* * *

I entered the Holwell house.

 

“Where the hell have you been?” Mike roared in my face. I saw Justin and Rachel peek down from the second floor.

 

“Agents Hotchner and Rossi needed my help with a case, they called you.” Not that he would remember. He was the stereotype of a drunken asshole. I kept my body submissive, relaxed. I saw the bruise on Justin’s face.

 

“I don’t remember that,” Jodi spoke up calmly. No shit. Mike chucked the bottle at my head. I shifted slightly so it only grazed me.

 

Let’s just fast forward, back off a little. Mike didn’t throw anything else. I picked up a few bruises and that was it. So, stop with the face.

 

“Are you okay?” I asked Justin. We were upstairs in his room. He nodded, pressing his head into my stomach. I hugged him, careful with my arm. Rachel looked at me. She was eight and Justin was six. “He touch you guys?”

 

“It was a bully at school,” Justin said. I didn’t think he was lying. Foster kids get pushed around at school, because of some weird school rite of being ‘teased’. ‘Teased’ is the most horrible word to throw around near me. I planned to deal with that tomorrow. My bus stop for High School was right outside Benton Hall, the kids would be right there.

 

“Okay, I’ll get some ice.” I snuck downstairs and backup with the ice. I wish I could call Hotch, but chances are they would end up in worst places, separated, and defenseless.

 

I snuck out later that night, heading down to the gym. Charles was already on the matts, waiting up on me.

 

“You been practicing?” He asked me, watching as I taped my hands up. I’d started taking doing self-defense two years ago, as soon as my leg was good enough.

 

“Couldn’t where I was at.” I joined him on the matt. It was a hurried thirty minutes, full of him flipping me on my back. I’d sworn that I would never be defenseless again or at least, I would be better equipped to handle it.

 

Charles was a tiny African American man who could take down anybody. He taught mixed martial arts at the Y and in the basement of the CoOp. He was one of the most unassuming people you would ever meet.

 

“Where did you get the bottle cut?” He asked softly, inspecting my head with soft hands.

 

“A kid slammed me into a glass pane.”

 

He tilted my head. “Huh. I got some alcohol in the back. Come on.” He washed the cut out and put a bandage on it. “How’d the FBI thing go?”

 

“Alright.”

 

“You wanna stay here tonight?”

 

“Nah, thanks Charles.” I left, after I unwrapped my hands. “Night.”

 

And this went on for a couple of months. Hotch was smart enough to not call the house phone, but he did email. I told him everything was fine.

 

My foster parents are a cop and a lawyer who works for the foster care system. Yeah, my problems are awesome. Don’t even start the sympathy march.

 

Hotch showed up after two months with Reid in tow. I met them at the door, recognizing the sound of an FBI car (they’d probably gotten it from the local office). Jodi rushed after me.

 

“Hi, ma’am. I’m SSA Aaron Hotchner with the Federal Bureau of Investigations. I need to borrow Felix for an afternoon.” I stared at him. He was fucking smiling (not good). I nodded hastily.

 

“Yes, ma’am, they need me to do some tech for them in a case.”

 

“A life hangs in the balance, ma’am,” Reid added, going almost too far. But Jodi let me off. I stepped out onto the suburban porch, shutting the door behind me.

 

“Our files are back at the hotel,” Hotch explained, gesturing me to follow. Jodi clenched her teeth, but couldn’t protest to the nice federal agents.

 

“So?” I asked once we were in Hotch’s car. I rode shotgun, daring Reid to argue. He didn’t. I sighed at them both.

 

“Are you sure, Felix?” Hotch asked. I opened my mouth, but he cut me off. “Are you sure?”

 

I looked at him. This was almost personal. Ah. “There are two other kids in that house, SSA Hotchner. You wouldn’t leave one of your team in there.”

 

“And what exactly do you think I’m trying to do?”

 

“Do Rossi a favor?” I shrugged at him. “I think you’re trying to get me in a world of trouble with CYS and the Holwells. I know you are trying to be nice and helpful, but please stop.”

 

“It’s called doing the right thing,” Hotch argued. I shook my head at him. “Where did you get that cut?”

 

“Fight at school.” It was a different cut, but caused the same way.

 

“You ever going to learn to not lie to Behavioral Analysis?”

 

“I’m not going to stop trying.” I looked at him closely. “I can’t leave, Hotch. It will hurt them, at school,” I added quickly. Hotch finally pulled up outside the motel. He led us out and into his room, unlocking the door.

 

Morgan was already in the room, going through case files.

 

“No women to make me feel more comfortable? You’re going to ruin my reputation.” I started humming the words to Bad Reputation under my breath. Morgan grinned. “Can I leave yet?”

 

“No.” Hotch gestured at me to sit down in a chair. Morgan handed me a mug of tea. I set it down, and didn’t pick it back up. I knew the game afoot here (Sherlock Holmes would have been proud).

 

“I still don’t get why you’re here. I’m not your responsibility.”

 

“Technically, you are. The FBI gets called in for kidnapped children within 24 hours. We owe you thirteen years of service,” Reid argued.

 

“Technicality. And I am fine. So, unless you have a warrent for my arrest?” Then I looked at Hotch. Morgan checked his watch. “Oh, you didn’t,” I hissed, shaking. “You bastard for a law enforcement agent.”

  
I left, slamming the door behind me, not bothering to wait for a ride. I ran back to the Howell’s house, hands trembling. Emily Prentiss and JJ were already there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Felix is an unusually complex character, but she would learn how to fight.
> 
> The place that Felix lives at, Little Falls, is a tiny town in Upstate New York. She would have taken a flight to Syracuse, and then a taxi or bus to Little Falls. She could have taken a bus, but it would take over a day to get there. So yes, I do my research.
> 
> I’ve been to Little Falls, and Karate used to be taught at the CoOp, so don’t hate on that. I do my damn research. Benton Hall (may not be spelled correctly) is the Little Falls elementary school. There was a High School bus stop on the corner.
> 
> There are a couple of reasons why it’s Hotch visiting Felix and not Rossi. One, Rossi is still taking it easy from the bullet wound. Two, Felix knows Rossi. She knows that he’s not the team leader, and doesn’t want to lose his respect. Three, it’s personal with both Hotch and Reid. Hotch has been abused, and so has Reid. Reid has dealt with bad living situations before, and had to make hard choices (committing his mother). So yes, there is a reason to why I do anything in this fic.

**Author's Note:**

> Right, so I got to talking with thelightwithin (it's how it always starts) and she convinced me to post it.
> 
> I will say that it is incomplete, and this is the second version.  
> Title and summary are to change.
> 
> This is a character study for Felix. She is mine. I am possessive of this.


End file.
